Purple Trunks (Redux)
by r4ven3
Summary: Using the team from S9 (minus Lucas) this one shot is a rambling, plotless romp focusing on Harry's underwear, officially for Harry's birthday, while unofficially for no reason at all. Massively OOC and meandering nonsense. It may possibly be amusing to some, while causing others to want to set fire to my laptop. Please don't. I need it on which to write proper, sensible fics.


_**A/N : This fic resulted from `encouragement' from Sigma Creations and Shao7 (at least, that's how I interpreted it) and also Narkybynature. I can't imagine I'll revisit the purple trunks, so this is probably the final installment, although not directly connected to a couple of earlier fics featuring similar subject matter. **_

* * *

"You'd never guess what," Dimitri Levendis says, striding across the Grid floor to where Beth and Tariq are hunched over the technical officer's central monitor.

"Not now, Dimitri," Beth says, her tone conveying her irritation.

"But this is big."

Beth lifts her eyes to see the merriment in Dimitri's. "Then make it quick. Something's gone wrong at the canal."

"Yeah. Harry fell in, and -"

"Harry fell in?" Tariq looks up, his eyes meeting Dimitri's above the monitor.

"But that's not the best bit."

"It isn't?"

"No. Harry's suit was ruined, so he had to strip, and he smelled a bit rank, and … you'd never guess what."

"He goes commando." Beth's voice is weary. She has been at work since 5.30 am.

"Even better. He wears purple shorts."

This time both Beth and Tariq turn to give Dimitri their full attention. "It's probably the canal water, Dimitri," Beth says. "It's the toxic chemical run-off from -"

"- and drunk people relieve themselves in it," adds Tariq.

Beth turns to glare at him. "How come you didn't know this?"

"That he wears purple underwear?"

"No, Tariq. How come you didn't know that Harry fell in the water?"

"Comms went down just as they gave chase to Ibrahim. I never expected him to end up in the canal."

"Has anyone taken him home to change?" Beth asks Dimitri.

"Alec offered. I wasn't about to take him, not when he's whiffy. I have a date tonight."

"And I'm supposed to understand that?" Beth adds.

Neither Tariq or Dimitri or Beth notice the quiet approach of the senior analyst, who is standing just behind Dimitri. "Is Harry all right?" she asks quietly. "I've been trying to ring him, but -"

"His phone is wrecked, along with his clothes," says Dimitri. "He fell in the canal, but he'll be fine … once he has a shower, and changes into something which smells better than a wrestler's armpit."

"And he wears purple shorts."

Tariq's observation brings the conversation to an abrupt halt, as Dimitri and Beth freeze, both waiting for Ruth's response. Ruth is staring at Tariq, clearly stuck for words.

"Not that we care about what Harry wears under his trousers," Beth then says, immediately wishing she hadn't.

"You have to know that, purple or not, he fills out his shorts," Dimitri says, grinning at Ruth, "just in case either of you were wondering." Dimitri's eyes flick from Ruth to Beth and back.

 _God, please take me now_ , thinks Beth, who hasn't a religious bone in her body, and doesn't even believe in God.

Ruth appears agitated, turning on the spot, her eyes on the floor. "Harry will need a new phone," she says, " _today_. Tariq, do you have any spare?"

"I gave my last one to Alec, sorry, but I can go out and get one now, if you like."

"Get a couple. He may have ruined his personal mobile as well. I can't reach him on that, either."

* * *

In the en suite bathroom next to his bedroom, Harry Pearce stands under the shower, eyes closed, head tipped forward, while the water – almost too hot to bear – cascades over his scalp and neck, rinsing the shampoo from his hair, and the soap from his skin. He is beginning to feel normal once more, the smell of the canal no longer seeping from every pore.

Opening his eyes, he sees through the mottled glass of the shower screen an untidy purple blob, the underwear he'd worn that day. He can't throw them away; he doesn't want to throw them away. A week earlier he had turned fifty-seven, and the purple trunks were a gift from someone who is rather special to him. He opens the shower door and reaches down to grab the trunks, dropping them onto the tiles under his feet. If they don't come clean in the shower, he'll have to soak them.

"Are you nearly done in there?" Alec's gruff voice booms through the closed door.

"Almost," Harry replies. He could stand under the water for another half hour, but he has things to do, people to see, dragons to slay.

* * *

Tariq has left the Grid to source some phones, while Dimitri has wandered back to his desk. Beth follows Ruth to her work station, believing that some debriefing may be in order – not for her, but for Ruth. "Are you all right?" she asks, once Ruth has sat down.

Ruth looks up. "Me? I'm fine. It's Harry I'm worried about. He shouldn't be in the field .. not at his age."

"I dare you to tell him that."

Ruth looks up at Beth and smiles. "I wouldn't dream of it."

Beth is dying to know, and now seems like as good a time as any. "Do you … know about the purple trunks … by any chance?"

"Do you mean have I met them … am I familiar with their provenance … have I seen them on Harry?"

"We-ell ..." Beth has begun to twirl the end of her hair around her index finger, which is something she has done since she was six, usually accompanied by much batting of eyelashes. "All of the above, actually."

"I bought them for his birthday last week. It was a gift from me to him. Happy?"

"Ecstatic." Having realised what she's doing with her hair, Beth quickly removes her finger. "So … you've seen him wearing them?"

"Clearly he was wearing them today, and I've seen him today, so yes."

"Trunks are a rather … personal gift … aren't they?"

"I suppose they are, yes."

"Because," Beth blunders on, "I wouldn't dream of buying Harry underwear for his birthday. It would send entirely the wrong message … wouldn't you say?"

"Definitely," Ruth says, her eyes on her monitor. "It would no doubt confuse him."

"So ..." Beth believes that when faced with an immoveable obstacle, the best approach is to barge through. "Was he confused?"

"Harry?"

"Yeah .. Harry."

"I doubt it. He knew what they were, and how to wear them, so ... no confusion at all."

"But … he didn't think the gift too … personal? You know, since it's to be worn next to his skin, and against his … you know."

"Against his genitals? Is that what you're having trouble saying, Beth? It's not like you to stumble over words like genitals .. or testicles … or pe-"

" _Jesus_ , Ruth. We're at work! And the last thing I need is a mental image of Harry's … bits."

" _Bits_?"

"Yes, bits. Dimitri says Harry fills out his underwear rather well, and I didn't need to hear that, either."

Ruth sits back in her chair, lifting her eyes to Beth. "So, if my analysis of this conversation is correct, what you've been asking me is … am I sleeping with Harry?"

Beth's bottom jaw drops, and then just as quickly, she closes her mouth. "Did I say that?"

"It sounded like it to me. Subtlety is not one of your strengths, Beth."

"No, I suppose not." Beth watches Ruth … and waits. "So … are you?"

"Sleeping with Harry?"

"Yeah."

"No, but I'd be unlikely to tell you, even if I was."

"Why not? I tell you everything … almost."

"You're the consummate over-sharer, Beth. Some things are best not spoken about."

"All I'm after is some juicy details."

"I know." Ruth looks away for a moment, and then back at Beth. "What if – when the time comes, _if_ it comes - I take pictures … of Harry in his purple trunks?"

"No, thanks. That'd be like seeing a picture of my dad in his white Y-fronts. Harry is hardly my cup of tea."

"Good," Ruth says with a smile, and then she turns her attention back to her monitor.

"Right, so ..." Beth points in the general direction of her desk, "I'll go back to my desk, and do … whatever ..."

* * *

Ruth stays on the Grid, waiting for Harry's return, when Alec arrives, making a beeline for her desk. "I have a message for you from the boss," he says, grabbing a chair from an adjacent desk, and turning it backwards to straddle it. "He has an evening meeting with the other Mi5 section heads, and so my orders are to drive you home."

"I don't need you to drive me home, Alec. I can take the bus."

"If I allowed you to do that, Harry'd send me to the outer reaches of the universe. I'm driving you home."

"On one condition," Ruth says, standing, "that on the way there we stop at Marks and Sparks."

"Sure."

It is clear to Ruth that Alec, unlike Beth, is not curious about her and Harry. He asks no questions, and on the drive home, he talks about the operation-that-went-tits-up (his words), and how bad Harry smelled once they'd dragged him out of the canal. Ruth has heard it all from Dimitri, so she only half-listens, and she is relieved when he fails to remark on the colour of Harry's underwear. Some things are just not noteworthy enough to mention.

When Alec turns into Harry's street, Ruth objects. "I thought you were meant to take me home," she says warily.

"I am. My orders are to take you to Harry's home, and if you object, I should fake a flat tyre, or some other automotive malfunction. Again, Harry's orders."

 _Bloody Harry_. Ruth is sure he'd planned the whole thing, including his slipping on wet grass, and ending up in the canal.

* * *

This is not the first time she has been inside Harry's house, but it is the first time she has been there alone, which provides her with the opportunity to snoop. Ruth doesn't like the word `snoop'. She prefers to think of herself as being curious about the world around her, which includes the house of the man she is growing to care for ... quite a lot.

Ever since she'd returned from exile, Ruth has been angry with Harry, and after all this time, she has forgotten why that is. Sure, he could have saved George's life, but at what cost? In his shoes she would likely have done the very same thing. And Harry can be obtuse and frustrating, but then, so can she … _with bells on_ , as Harry would say. Keeping him at a safe distance is no longer working in her favour, or his, so spending an evening in his house, alone with him, is a sign that she is ready to let go of the past and move on.

Having watched a rolling news service on TV for an hour or more, Ruth finds herself upstairs (how did that even happen?), standing just inside Harry's bedroom. She knows it's his bedroom because it's neat and orderly and minimalist, not that Harry is a minimalist, especially when it comes to the way he uses language, and in particular when he's unhappy about something … or someone. Harry can go completely over the top when berating one of his staff, although for reasons only they know, he has of late spared her that particular fate.

Ruth ventures further inside the room, and before she is aware of having done so, she is lying on her back on the bed, her head on the same pillow on which Harry lays his head each night. Staring at the ceiling, she tries to imagine sharing this bed with him, as his partner, as his lover. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad, after all. She lies on her back, on Harry's bed, for some time (in her head she calls it acclimatising) until she hears the distinctive sound of a car in the driveway. Harry is home. Let the fun begin!

* * *

"I suppose you heard what happened at the canal today," Harry says, now that they are sitting across from one another at his kitchen table, the takeaway Indian meal on the table between them.

"Dimitri provided us with … a lurid word picture, yes."

"He appeared to enjoy my misfortune."

"He thought your choice of underwear to be … noteworthy."

Harry smiles a slow, seductive smile. "Did you tell him the choice was yours?"

"Of course not. I didn't wish to become the butt of his jokes."

"But it's fine that I am."

This time it is Ruth who smiles. "You're the boss, Harry. Being the butt of your staff's jokes is ..."

"A perk of the job?"

"If you like."

They are silent for several minutes before Harry again speaks. "I'm not sure the trunks can be salvaged. They've gone a strange, purpley-grey colour."

"Which reminds me." Ruth pushes her plate away, stands, and grabs her shoulder bag from on top of the cabinet just outside the kitchen door. "For you," she says, shoving a Marks & Spencer bag across the table towards Harry, "as compensation."

"Compensation?" he asks, lifting his eyebrows as he tears open the bag. "For what, Ruth?"

"For today's misfortune."

Once the bag is torn open, Harry draws from it a plastic bag, inside which is his `compensation.' "Five pairs, Ruth? You don't have a lot of faith in me, do you?"

"Not when you're in the field, no."

Ruth watches him closely. He appears pleased, so she is happy. He lays out the five pairs of trunks on the table between them. "Which pair shall I wear next, Ruth - purple, blue, pink? I'm not sure I'm a pink kind of man."

"As recently as the 1930's, blue was the colour for girls, and pink for boys."

"I'm no longer a boy, Ruth."

"I … had noticed."

"That's good."

For a very long moment they watch one another across the table, food forgotten. Ruth speaks without first planning her words carefully, something she almost never does. "Would you like to … give me a .."

"I'd be happy to give you whatever you want," Harry says, offering her a lop-sided grin.

"… parade for me, in each … so I can choose my favourite."

"Are you serious?"

"Why not? It's only ten o'clock."

And while he has no idea what the time has to do with anything, Harry gathers all five pairs of trunks, and hurries upstairs, calling behind him, "Don't go anywhere, Ruth."

As if she would.

* * *

Next morning:

"You'd never guess what," Dimitri says to anyone who will listen, before sliding his tall frame into his chair. He looks around, wondering why no-one has answered, so opening his mouth to repeat himself, he is silenced by Beth.

"What, already?" she snaps. "Some of us have work to do."

"Harry was nice to me, and you know what that means."

"It means he thought you were someone else," Beth says glaring across her desk at him, as he leans back in his chair.

"It means he's getting some."

"Oh, please. You think everything is about is sex. Chances are the poor man just had a good night's sleep."

"Did Ruth sleep at home last night?"

"Ruth? I didn't check. By the time I got home all I could do was head to bed, and this morning I assumed she'd already left for work."

"Which means you haven't a clue," Tariq chimes in from behind his monitor.

"So ..." Dimitri says with a smirk, "we have touchdown."

"Touchdown?"

"A score," chips in Tariq.

"A result," adds Dimitri.

"Goal," says Tariq, punching the air.

"I didn't know you were into rugby," says a soft voice from behind them.

"We're not," the three of them say at once, avoiding Ruth's eyes.

"Am I missing out on something?" Ruth asks, perplexed.

"Not from where I'm sitting," says Dimitri.

" _Dimitri_!" chides Beth.

"It doesn't seem fair," observes Tariq, "especially since you and Harry are old compared with us."

"What's Harry got to do with it?" Ruth appears confused.

" _Everything_!" say three voices.

" _Ruth_ ..." Harry calls across the Grid from his office doorway. "I need you."

"Right," she says, turning to join him, a frown on her face.

* * *

"What's wrong with them?" he asks, gazing across the Grid to where three of his agents are engaged in a three-way high-five.

"I have no idea," Ruth replies, "but at a guess, I'd say you amuse them."

Harry grunts, then leans back against the edge of his desk. "Do you think perhaps they … _know_?"

"I don't see how they can."

"What about Beth?"

"She never notices if I'm out, or if I'm home. She's totally preoccupied with her own life."

"So … will you come around to mine tonight?" he asks, a glint in his eye.

"Only if you parade for me dressed in just your underwear."

"I was hoping for ..."

"What?"

" … nothing .."

" _Nothing_?"

"Ruth, I wore nothing for most of the night."

"You forget that I slept through it."

"Not all of it."

"No … and since you're asking, I'm rather partial to the purple -"

"- which I'm wearing now."

"Right .. so … that means .."

Harry lifts himself away from the desk, leaning towards her - rather dangerously, in her opinion. "It means I could close the blinds."

" _Harry!_ " and Ruth gently slaps his arm.

"Or ..."

"Or we could wait -"

"That's almost twelve hours, Ruth."

"Good things come to those who wait."

"I'm counting on it."

* * *

Ruth has only just settled at her desk, when her mobile phone rings. "Beth? What is it."

"I think I've managed to pull it off." Beth is speaking in a hoarse whisper from across the Grid, and Ruth dare not look her way.

"Pull off what?"

"Dimitri and Tariq. I had to steer them away from you and Harry, and I think I managed it … just."

"Right."

"So, do I get a thank you?"

"I suppose so .. yes, thanks .. I think."

"And you can have the flat tonight. I'll be out .. somewhere."

"I won't need the flat tonight, but thanks for the offer."

"So it's true."

"I … I'll be helping Harry with some … interior decorating."

Ruth sits through a long silence from Beth. "That's … an interesting euphemism," Beth says carefully.

"It's true. I'm helping him to choose some colours .. that's all."

"Pull the other one."

"It's quite innocent, really."

"And this … interior decorating will take you all night?"

"Most of it, yes."

"Right, so Harry is ..."

"Colour blind." Ruth knows he's not, but needs must.

"So, you won't be back home until ..."

".. the decorating is done, and that could take ..."

".. days … months … years?"

"Probably."

"And I'd rather you didn't show me any pictures of … Harry decorating."

"All right, then I won't."

"Good, so ..."

"You're free to do some decorating of your own, Beth … in our flat … for the foreseeable future."

"So every cloud does have silver lining."

"It certainly does."

 _Or in my case,_ Ruth thinks, _a purple one_.

 _Fin_


End file.
